


Clockmaker's Gift

by FyreAlchemage



Series: Tales From Merol [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyreAlchemage/pseuds/FyreAlchemage
Summary: Part of the Tales From Merol collection. A short story about a clockmaker who finds himself in Merol, and meets with the God of Life and Time.
Series: Tales From Merol [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154444





	Clockmaker's Gift

Mister Carrick Fergus, clockmaker and occasional historian, was no stranger to waking up to something unexpected, considering the unusual place he called home. But, even he would never have guessed just what he would experience one fateful day—this day, in fact!

It started as all his days did, with him getting out of his bed in a nice house on the east side of Ion. His bare feet felt grass, which was highly unusual for indoors. He went out of his room and slid down the stairwell banister as usual, avoiding knocking anything down this time. Down here in the workshop, the floors were also grassy. And the clock he was working on, a big one that had been commissioned by an important councilor, was now—oh the horror—in ruins! All the wheels had been cut apart and melted into new, non-wheel shapes; the pendulum was torn away from its place; the wooden frame he’d spent days making was now burnt. No! Two months worth of work, gone!

Carrick steadied himself, placing his hands on the table, and said to himself, “Not to worry… we can make it again, faster this time, just need to ask for more time…”

Then, from out of nowhere, a spare chunk of brass hit him in the head, knocked him out.

When he woke up again, he was definitely not in Ion anymore, and the pieces of the clock, now all repaired, were spread out around him on the grass, waiting for him to put them together again. There was his set of self-made tools, there was that diagram he had made. Now he asked aloud, “What?”

Carrick began to assemble his clock, putting the wheels in, spinning them around, testing their fit. He tied the pendulum-chain to its place and attached the pendulum and its weight, then, with careful finesse that could only be from years of experience, he finished and wound up the clock and nodded, satisfied with his work. It immediately vanished, leaving seven hundred Ionic dollars in its place. Again, Carrick asked, “What?”

A rock flew out of nowhere and hit him in the head, and he was out again.

This time, he woke up in an infirmary, and mysterious people with massive noses were walking everywhere and speaking in a language of hmms and grunts. One of these approached him and asked, in perfect Ionic, “Are you better now?”

“I don’t know,” Carrick answered. The person squinted at him, emerald eyes behind elegant glasses studying him. At length, the person said, “You are followed by a strange curse, and only one person can remove it. Are you well enough to walk? I may take you to him; he is our leader and our lord.”

“Monarchy…?” Carrick muttered. No monarchies existed in Ion—that was a government from antiquity. Wherever he was, it was nowhere near his home!

Carrick followed the local, finding that he had a terrible headache in both places where he had been hit. As they walked, it felt as if his head was going to come off and combust, not a very pleasant image.

They approached a large hall with red windows and a very ornate roof, and inside was a trophy hall. Standing at the very end of this, a rounded part that a church might have, was a man with golden hair and kind, green eyes.

“This is the one who is cursed,” said the local, now in a different dialect. Was that… Merolish?

“Hello there,” said the man with the kind eyes. “My name, is Grayson. What’s yours?”

“Carrick Fergus,” said Carrick, getting down on one knee and forming an I with his hands. Grayson looked at him, bemused. Carrick got up and said, “Sorry. Where I come from, that is a formality.”

“And where do you come from?”

“A small island, Ion,” said Carrick. “I live in its largest city, which is also called Ion. Where am I?”

“This is Redkeep, my city,” said Grayson. “It’s safe against most dangers. I’ve never heard of Ion before; it must be far away. Anyway, you have a certain curse on you, and it’s become powerful enough to send you all the way here.”

“Can you remove it?” asked Carrick. “My job as a clockmaker doesn’t have any time for curses, and besides, having one might interfere with the work.”

“Well, curse removing is kinda troublesome,” said Grayson. “It doesn’t always work, and sometimes, a curse even becomes stronger. So I want to take all the precautions.” His eyes glowed green, and now they were in a chamber set up for this purpose. “Do you have a headache right now?”

“I do,” said Carrick, and indicated where. Grayson gave him a potion and said, “This makes it go away. It should also make sure you don’t get hit by anything else.”

Carrick drank the potion, finding it tasted… lemony. “Now what?”  
“Now, I’m going to remove—try to remove—that curse.”

Grayson’s eyes flashed green and he was surrounded in a green light. Carrick felt something press against his skull, and then a warm, soothing feeling. It was quickly doused by a sudden and violent pain that made him cry out. Then, the warmth came again, stronger this time, fighting the pain. Both got stronger, and stronger, until finally, the warmth won. A dark force shot out of him and was quickly caught in a jar by Grayson, who by this point looked exhausted.

“I am so glad that worked,” said Grayson. “Lalna might like this, or maybe Yenilu. Oh, right, and I’m pretty sure you want to be home now. I can teleport you there as long as you think of exactly where you want to be.”

“Do it,” Carrick said, the image of his home firmly in his mind. In seconds, his mind vision became reality and he was there.  
A note was slid under the door. Carrick took it, put on his invisible ink-reading spectacles, and read it.

Mister Carrick Fergus,  
Your exemplary clockmaking abilities have impressed the good councilor, and she has commissioned you with another clock. It is due by no later than the 16th of Solar Flare, and you will be paid a sum of I1,200 upon delivery. Enclosed is the payment for the last clock, as you were not present to receive it.  
Most cordially, The Ionic Council of Decoration.

Carrick took his payment and began work on the next clock.  
From that day on, he wondered if he would ever meet that man Grayson again, and if Grayson would even remember him if he did. Who knew?

Certainly not Carrick.


End file.
